


radiant.

by azureforest



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azureforest/pseuds/azureforest
Summary: wreathed in sunset, bathed in light, they smile at eachother on the walkway, their halos singing their praises.the moments before the end.





	radiant.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck heavensward.
> 
> (haurchefant pov.)

Iron crawls over his tongue, fills the cracks in his lips, cold in the frigid air, cold like the light biting into his flesh. He never thought of the light as terrible, no, and is glad that icy blue fades into quiet crackles quickly enough. That was not light, that was not _his_ light that drove, and drove, and broke. He did not hear the crack. All he heard was the way his heart screamed in his ears, panicked, before stuttering. For a moment, he is deaf to everything around him, and it is terrifying.

It hurts. By Halone, does it _hurt_.

The world falls backwards. He’s dimly aware of the thud and clank that follows, too conscious of the fresh stab of pain that lances through his bones and rattles in his chest. Unfocusing, his gaze meets the sunset sky above. It occurs to him, then, in a moment of lucidity (or, perhaps, hysteria?) that today is a cloudless day. A rarity.

He supposes dying is a rarity, too. He wants to get up and apologize, but finds that his strength has left him, pain wavering to make way for cold, dreadful cold, seeping through his clothes, lead by the chainmail, the gauntlets, the pauldrons. An unthinkable fate for his hero, truly. A wet cough follows, forming bubbles on the surface. He is glad it fell to him.

Strong hands lift his head, though they tremble. The iron- The _blood_ , seeps back down his throat in a strange trickle. His vision goes black-red-bright as he struggles to open his eyes, keep them open, and before him, he sees light.

He cannot help his smile. They are alright. It’s alright. He repeats the words, or something along those lines. _Forgive me_ , he adds, _I could not bear the thought of_ …

The sentence trails off as his eyes screw shut, briefly. It’s an _unspeakable_ fate, as well. He cannot tell what of the pain is from the thought alone or the fact that he’d just been impaled, though some part of him argued he was being melodramatic again- But he remembers Shiva, and the fear he’d felt when he’d heard they'd gone out there alone, and doubts.

Yet here they are, safe and sound. Here they are, and he lay dying- Not the grandest stage for a confession, really, so he holds his tongue. Still, he lifts his hand, hoping to reach their face, hoping to see them more clearly- Two hands grab hold of it in return, teardrops falling upon his glove. Just a little further, and he could wipe them away. Just a little further, yet his arm felt leaden.

A pity. His head swims, but the look on their face is clear as day, even as that day swiftly disappears behind the mountains. Still, his smile does not falter, even as his hand goes slack, his fingers only gingerly lacing into theirs- Because they are strong, he is sure. They will march on, head held high, ever radiant, ever valiant, ever beautiful. They will overcome, they will rise above, they will emerge, even from the deepest depths, victorious…

Yet even without, they deserve happiness. They deserve to smile. Sadness should never take them......

More tears stain his glove. The thought that he’d caused this is almost enough to make him falter, but their hands are like a vice, even as everything else numbs. So he speaks, even as his breath rasps and shudders, rusty links in a swing.

_Do not look at me so_ , he says, and laughs, weakly. A _smile better suits a hero_ , he continues, eyes struggling to focus, yet unwavering in their gaze. The Warrior’s grip tightens on his hand even more- Should they break it, he wouldn’t mind- lip trembling, blinking rapidly, face flushed, nose running. Crying.

Crying, but yet, they smile, the setting sun framing their blotchy face in a gentle halo. Their shoulders shake, but he breathes a relieved sigh, his hand squeezing back in return. They are an angel, treading in the grace of the Twelve, and he is safe. They are light, warm and kind, and he will never be in the dark again.

They smile,

 

and it is radiant.


End file.
